


The man hath penance done, and penance more will do

by hangingfire



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Gen, Historical References, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Inuit Character, You Can't Go Home Again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-23 07:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17075927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hangingfire/pseuds/hangingfire
Summary: "They no longer call himAglûgkaq. By the time Ross's party arrived, the nameAglituktoqhad somehow attached itself to him—the one who is unclean before the spirits."





	The man hath penance done, and penance more will do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [days4daisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/gifts).



They no longer call him _Aglûgkaq_. By the time Ross's party arrived, the name _Aglituktoq_ had somehow attached itself to him— _the one who is unclean before the spirits_. He accepted it with a kind of wry irony and a sense of justice. It's more acceptable than _the one who failed his men_ , which, in the darker nights, is what he calls himself.

It took a year for him to learn to hunt seal. _Stop breathing so loudly!_ Aviluktoq would hiss at him. _The bears are quieter than you._ Now he can sit still for hours, unmoving, his breathing in time with the wind across the ice. He holds the spear in his good hand and balances it against his wrist stump, or the crook of his elbow. Sometimes Angutisugssuk comes with him, ostensibly to learn the ways of the hunt, but also because he seems to find some peace in Aglituktoq's presence that he doesn't find with his own father. The boy has become the nearest thing he has to a son.

He could have had a son of his own by now, he knows. Over the last few years there have been women who were interested, but his heart and his body no longer stir like that. He thought at first that it might have been the last lingering flickers of passion for Sophia that stopped him, but it isn't—he doesn't feel that way for her anymore and indeed has not since—he's not sure. When was the last time he thought of her in that way? After Sir John died? After Blanky lost his leg and he threw away the bottle for good? He can't remember. It's a relief, all things considered.

No—he is a man alone now. True, the _Netsilingmiut_ have accepted him; they trust him with their children—but no matter how much they love him—and he them—that part of him that is still Francis Crozier never forgets that he is not one of them. Not one of them, never English, not Irish anymore; not fish, flesh, or fowl. He is the last of his kind.

And he is at peace with that.

He is with a group of families at the place the English call Repulse Bay when he is unpleasantly surprised by the appearance of John Rae. He keeps his head low, listens, lets the others tell Rae about the _qablunaaq_ , about the horror of the camp where he'd found Little dying. He makes himself scarce while they trade relics to Rae—indeed, for the purpose he even gives Aviluktoq the fork he's been carrying around for years for no good reason, and he feels lighter having done so. He thinks he's evaded Rae entirely, just as he evaded Ross, and he's feeling ever so slightly smug about it as he binds up his goods on his small sledge. A hand touches his shoulder; he doesn't start—he assumes it must be Angutisugssuk—but when he looks up, it's right into Rae's face.

There is nowhere to hide. He freezes.

"You're not Netsilik."

Maybe if he keeps his mouth shut the man will give up and go away.

"Do you speak English? _Français_?"

Go. Away.

"Which of them are you? Fitzjames? Crozier?"

It's too much. "Francis Crozier is dead, and James Fitzjames too," he snaps. The first English he has spoken in years, and there's still an Irish accent.

The look that comes over Rae's face in that moment is _almost_ worth giving himself away. Rae is too shocked to be elated; he even looks a little ill. He staggers back a step, stares.

"It's you. Crozier."

For the briefest, most painful of moments, he is tempted. He could say yes. He could go back with Rae; he could bring his story to the Admiralty, rub Sir John Barrow's nose in it. (He does not know that Barrow is dead.) Write a memoir, sell his story, win a knighthood at last, perhaps. Face the widows and orphans the men left behind, be hounded and vilified, spend the rest of his days known as the man who lost two entire vessels—

No. No, it will not happen. He straightens up and grips the front of Rae's coat as hard as he can. "Forget you saw me, Rae. Francis Crozier died with the rest of his men and he shall never return."

"But—"

" _Forget you saw me_ ," he says again, snarling just a little and pulling on the coat just enough to unbalance the man. "I swear to you, if you come back for me, I will kill you. If anyone else comes for me on your word, I will kill him. Do you understand?"

That's it, that's enough. Rae seems to understand, or at least is willing to accept it; he swallows, answers with a tight little nod.

He releases Rae and and bends to grab the ropes of his sledge. He calls out and Angutisugssuk comes running to join him. Aglituktoq turns away from Rae, from the last of Britain, and joins his families as they trudge away across the stones and ice. He does not look back.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow-up of sorts to [_The Last Temptation of James Fitzjames_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030979), and hopefully a bit less sad. 
> 
> The title is from _The Rime of the Ancient Mariner_. John Rae was one of the many explorers who came to look for Franklin (he's briefly name-checked in the scene in episode 10 where James Ross goes to visit Sir John Barrow), and was infamously and roundly condemned by Charles Dickens for bringing back the Inuit accounts of cannibalism in the last days of the Franklin expedition. 
> 
> I've borrowed the Inuit names (and their spelling and translations) from [_The Netsilik Eskimos, Social Life and Spiritual Culture_](https://archive.org/details/netsilikeskimoss00rasm) by the Danish-Greenlandic anthropologist and explorer Knud Rasmussen, because there was no way in hell I was going to try and make any up out of thin air.
> 
> Worth noting: in 1931, our man Rasmussen wrote of his interviews with the Netsilingmiut about their Franklin oral history: "I must admit there is nothing particularly exciting about these experiences, but perhaps just because of that they provide good testimony of the good memories and trustworthiness of the Eskimos. These encounters with white men have been quite _en passant_ , and there has not been time to learn to know the people they mention in the slightest; and yet so many, many years afterwards they preserve the traditions of their experiences with unembellished and sober reliability. If the particular reports of these expeditions are turned up the ancient verbal traditions be found to be in the best agreement with the books." Subsequent research and events have proven Rasmussen entirely correct. In your FACE, Charles Dickens.


End file.
